I gots to pizzuke � � � Tuesday, Mar. 04, 2003 * 13:34

There's nothing like being drunk. There's nothing like being drunk in a bar and suddenly realizing that you're going to puke. There's nothing like being drunk in a bar and suddenly realizing that you're going to puke and getting to the bathroom and seeing that it's occupied and having to walk up a flight of steps, to the upstairs bathroom, drunk off your ass and dizzy.

Finally, there's nothing like huddling - no, cowering - in the corner of a bathroom stall sitting on the floor, stricken with chest pains, periodically upchucking into the toilet which has by now become your best friend and feels so nice and cool to the touch compared to that nizzasty floor, closing your eyes and feeling wave after wave of dizziness and nausea and chills wash over your pale, shuddering body, when one of the bouncers comes in and tells you that he's going to have to call an ambulance if you don't come out, and you realize that you've been cowering on said floor for an hour and a half, that your dinner companion has been downstairs talking to Steve Blake without you, that the bouncer is really quite ugly in a handsome way, and that you aren't drunk anymore at all, just sick.

Yes, there's nothing like that to make you want to lay down on something soft and never move again.

My only regret is probably that all this happened on a Monday night. How fucking sad is that.

Oh, and I didn't get to do shots with Steve Blake.

Ugh, shots... I'm going to be sick.